The Secrets of Cedar Farm by Carissa Ann Lynch

Author:Carissa Ann Lynch [Lynch, Carissa Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780008511418
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers

Chapter Eighteen

When I was in college, I took an art class. The dumbest decision I ever made. Not because the class wasn’t a good one—it was. But because I’d made the silly mistake of assuming it would be easy. An uncomplicated elective; a break from math, science, and English.

But as it turns out, introductory art design and appreciation is hard as hell when you have no experience, or interest, in making art. The first task I was assigned was to draw a bowl full of apples. Again and again, I tried to make that stupid bowl, until finally, I went to my art professor and requested to drop her class. She said no. Instead, she sat down with me and taught me to look between the lines.

I wasn’t drawing the bowl of fruit in front of me on the table. Instead, I was drawing one piece at a time—a line here, a curve there, a shadow underneath…

She taught me to see the whole in parts—to pick it apart and work it slowly, step by step.

Perhaps that’s why I can’t see the big picture now.

I see the curve of a shoulder.

The ashy point of an elbow.

Wiry bits of string attached to a soggy black circle… hair.

And a dome of rotted, black fruit… but beneath the dome is a moon-white face.

Bloated blue lips and owlish eyes… the neck bent so that the face is looking straight up at me.

Oh, sweet Jesus, what have I found…

The lid clattered to the dirt floor with a bang, and I scurried backward like a crab to escape the dead woman in the barrel. Vomit came before I could stop it, oozing down my chin, and then as I fell forward on my knees, it splashed on the floor in front of me.

Now that the lid was off, I could smell her. There’s no mistaking that smell. It’s the smell of decomposition. A smell I know… but not like this. I’ve never smelled anything like this. Oh God…

Moments later, I was back on my feet, sliding around the floor in my own spew as I bolted back outside.

I’m screaming. I could hear myself doing it, but it didn’t sound right, the screech of madness so unlike me. And the sound of it so loud, so guttural, it had to echo for miles.

I ran for the first thing I could see… the truck.

Door locked.

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. I have to get out of here! I have to call the police! I have to get my daughter. Away from this man, this family… away from this fucking hideous place!

I tried the passenger side door of the truck. Also locked.

“Shit!” I screamed, slamming my palm against the truck window.

Left with no other choice, I took off running through the woods.

Keys. I know where they are… Think, Norah, think!

I saw a few loose keys in a kitchen drawer, just yesterday. Could one of those possibly belong to the truck?

With my phone disconnected and no landline, I

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